For things at a common destination there is a common path. Not always easy to see. But there.

You always pay too much. Particularly for promises. There aint no such thing as a bargain promise.

People don't pay attention. And then one day there's an accounting. And after that, nothing is the same.

The names of the cerros and the sierras and the deserts exist only on maps. We name them that we do not lose our way. Yet it was because the way was lost to us already that we have made those names. The world cannot be lost. We are the ones. And it is because these names and these coordinates are our own naming that they cannot save us. They cannot find for us the way again.

If much in the world were mystery the limits of that world were not, for it was without measure or bound and there were contained within it creatures more horrible yet and men of other colors and beings which no man has looked upon and yet not alien none of it more than were their own hearts alien in them, whatever wilderness contained there and whatever beasts.

Notions of chance and fate are the preoccupations of men engaged in rash undertakings.

Between the wish and the thing the world lies waiting.